Читать книгу Phemie Frost's Experiences - Ann S. Stephens - Страница 20

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OH, my! wasn't that ball-room a sight to see? Seats piled on seats, all cushioned with red velvet, and one end curving round like a great red horseshoe, with flags and flowers and shields running below the bottommost tier; a great swinging balloon of sparkling glass poured its light, like July sunshine, down on a crowd of people, that looked more like born angels than human creatures. It fairly made me dizzy to look at 'em from Cousin Dempster's box-seat, which was right in the end of the circle.

After a while I got my senses back, and looked out for him. He wasn't there yet, and that gave me a chance to see things. Four more heaps of glass, that seemed as if they had caught fire, hung in the other end of the room, and beyond them was a fountain of water, a-sparkling and a-flashing and a-tinkling in a make-believe garden by moonlight, with live fish swimming in it, and live flowers blooming in piles and heaps around it, and make-believe trees. Half running round the room was a lot of marble posts, with white flower-pots running over with sweetness, and linked together with running vines, that made you feel yourself almost out of doors.

All this was splendid; but there was one spot that everybody looked towards, and I most of all. Three boxes, cushioned with red velvet, were just chained together with great wreaths of flowers such as I never saw in a garden; but I knew they were genuine because of the scent, which was delicious. Banners set full of stars and stripes of red and white silk, all tangled in with flowers, hung over these boxes, and right in the centre streamed a white silk banner, on which our old bald eagle and the black eagles of all the Russias flocked together as sociable as robins in a nest.

"There he is! There he is!"

I started. I caught my breath, for back of the white flag he stood with the light a-shining on his beautiful yellow hair, and a smile on his lips. Oh, how grand, how tall, how gorgeous! Everybody was a-looking at him. The girls around me—always forward, and so silly—began twittering together, and looking that way as if he would ever think of dancing with them. They swarmed around me, as a representative person. They forgot their own trivialities, and rendered me such homage as genius commands from commonplace minds.

"You are an author," said they. "You belong to the great aristocracy of the world. Speak for us. He cannot dance with all of us, but he can look this way through his opera-glass, and give us all a chance of being put in the papers as the beautiful young lady he admired so much. We appoint you a committee of one. Address him in our behalf. Get some memento of him that we may leave to future generations."

The entreaties of these young creatures went to my heart. I raised my forefinger, which was like an oath to them, and says I:

"Thanks for this honor. Like a Roman matron I will do my duty. Wait."

I arose from my seat, and swept, with a dignity and grace that must have done the Society I represent great honor, around the gallery, and found my way into the private retiring-room of our illustrious guest. It was small but beautifully furnished. My pink silk, as it trailed in, seemed to fill the whole room. In the looking-glass I saw a figure, tall, commanding; I may say queenly—but enough of that.

A person stood near the door and looked in. I lifted my finger; he approached.

"Go," says I, "to the great Grand Duke of all the Russias, and tell him that Miss Phœmie Frost, a committee lady, awaits his presence here."

He started—he smiled—he went.

I drew back and stood against the wall opposite the door. He entered, looking a little puzzled. I advanced one foot, then the other, three long paces, as queens do when they act on the stage. Then I sunk down in a profound curtsey, wound myself up again into a royal position, and held out my right hand.

"Great Grand Duke Alexis," says I, "son of an illustrious father and an imperial mother, whom all women love to honor, welcome to our shores—welcome to the fashion, genius, and beauty embodied in the females of America."

Before I could finish the address to which duty and ever-burning genius inspired me, the great Grand Duke quenched my ardor by a heavenly smile that danced in his blue eyes, and almost broke into a laugh on his red lips. His voice was like over-ripe strawberries when he spoke and said: "The ladies did him great honor; he had not English to express his pleasure, and no power to repay their kindness." This was my time.

"Being the head of a committee of so many young ladies that it is impossible for your Imperial Majesty to dance with the whole, I—that is, these ladies—wish to be represented in the festive cotillon by a person worthy of the occasion. Not the wife of an American potentate, who may or may not have any claims of her own, but a potentate in herself. Not crowned with the shadow of a man's laurels, but wearing her own bay leaves as Tasso did."

Here I felt my eyes a-drooping, and my tall figure bent like a weeping willow. The great Grand Duke saw my confusion, and his smile deepened audibly.

"Say to the lovely committee of ladies," says he—

But I interrupted him, and putting one hand on my heart, observed, with a gentle bow:

"Embodied in me."

Then he smiled out loud again, and says he:

"If the Committee of Arrangement permit, I shall have much pleasure."

With that he bowed and prepared to go out. I drew back toward the wall till the pink silk skirt began to tangle up my feet, and kept my eyes lifted to his face, which was still bathed in blushing smiles. Another step, a low curtsey, and I lifted myself up with dignity while he passed through the door.

I was alone, with nothing but the looking-glass to gaze on my delight. The young ladies had begged of me for a memento of royalty. I looked around. An ivory-handled hair-brush lay on a marble shelf under the glass. I seized upon it, knowing that it had touched his head. I examined it. Imagine my joy—six bright yellow-brown hairs clung to the bristles! Carefully, daintily I picked them out, and, laying them in the palm of my white glove, formed a tiny tress of them—tiny, but oh! how exquisitely precious!

With this treasure in my hand I went back to my constituency. They crowded round me; sparkling eyes gazed upon the glorious prize I had secured; cherry lips kissed it with gushing fervor, and pleaded with me for just a morsel. I secured one lovely hair for myself, and, cutting the rest into tiny bits, distributed them generously. Oh, sisters! this act endowed me with wonderful popularity among my young companions. We girls should be generous to each other. I was generous, and an orchard full of spring robins could not have chirped more happily than they did while flocking around me. But the dancing began. I stood ready, with my long pink silk skirt gathered half way from the floor. But all at once it dropped from my hand—he was on the floor, and another lady clung to his arm. The jealousy of that committee of gentlemen had prevailed. He danced with the Governor's wife.

Did I stand ready to play second fiddle to her? No, no! a thousand times no! Was I not a New England lady? Did I not feel that the literature of the country had its eyes upon me? He couldn't help it; the deploring glance that he cast upon me was enough to satisfy me of that. Indeed, his feelings were so hurt that he really could not go through the figures of the cotillon, but kept dancing every which way, like a man torn with distractions. My heart ached for him. I could not bear to see his distress, and retired with dignity to my seat upstairs and looked on, while my proud New England heart burned with indignation. If I live, that committee of gentlemen shall hear from me again.